


Beauty

by stardropdream



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Episode Related, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-28 11:21:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8443918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: After months, Aramis has a confession for Porthos.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So like two months ago JL gave me a few prompts in my inbox and I'm trying to get my way through them... this ended up being long enough that I felt I could just post it directly to AO3 rather than tumblr. Written for the prompt, "First time after their reunion in which Aramis finally feels comfortable enough to point out how entirely unfair it is that Porthos has become even /more/ devastatingly handsome during those lost years. Porthos being flustered and unused to it, trying to dismiss it. Aramis spends the night telling him how beautiful he is, being every bit as gentle and caring as he can." 
> 
> I say this is episode related but it isn't linked to a specific episode - just general early season 3. Probably somewhere in the timeline of ep 4 or 5.

Aramis sighs out, slowly, and nuzzles in closer to Porthos’ neck – feels the scratch of his beard, the shift of Porthos’ jaw that means he’s smiling at the gesture. Aramis smiles, too, and closes his eyes – breathing out against Porthos’ neck and kissing him carefully, dragging his teeth in a slow arc, pillowing his lips. He waits for Porthos’ sigh – a sign he’s relaxed, pleased – before moving his way up towards his jaw, kissing first the spot in front of his ear and then along his jaw. 

He draws back once close enough to kiss Porthos properly – and Porthos even attempts to swoop in to do so. They both laugh, and Aramis’ expression softens, hand lifting to touch Porthos’ cheek. 

They’re pressed together in Porthos’ bed, in the early hours of the morning – or the late hours of the evening, it’s hard to know without looking at the course of the moon. There’s enough light from outside slanting through the windows that Aramis can see Porthos’ expression – a gentleness that’s been missing for the last few months. Aramis straddles Porthos now, determined to make this last, determined to kiss him until neither of them can breathe, until the sun rises up again. It’s a pleasant feeling, to know they have time now. Aramis fans his thumb along the curve of Porthos’ scar, down to sweep across his bottom lip. 

Porthos’ smile tilts up, shy but pleased, and he lifts his eyebrows. “What’s on your mind?” 

Aramis hums, bending down to kiss Porthos again. Porthos sighs out against the kiss, arching up against him. Aramis can feel the smile against his mouth and it makes him smile, too, but he stays unhurried – kissing slow and lingering. When he does break apart, it’s just to press their foreheads together. 

“I was thinking,” Aramis says, pausing and waiting for Porthos’ hum of curiosity. He pauses, but pushes through, “that it’s truly unfair how handsome you are.”

Porthos laughs – as he always does, as he did years and years ago when Aramis would insist he’s handsome. The first time he ever said it and Porthos laughed in his face, Aramis had spent the evening heartbroken, uncertain how it could be that a man as beautiful and wonderful as Porthos could doubt his own worth, even in such a quiet way. 

Perhaps it is the darkness of the night, or the way the light touches at Porthos’ face, lighting his smile, touching at his eyes, but Aramis feels brave enough to say what he hasn’t, since returning home to Paris: “When I left,” he pauses here because Porthos’ eyes flicker away and Aramis almost wavers, “I thought it was impossible for you to ever become more handsome.” 

Porthos looks at him – and then, as expected, shakes his head – amused, but embarrassed. “You’re ridiculous.” 

“And then at the monastery,” Aramis carries on, not laughing, not teasing or dismissing – just looking at Porthos steadily, his smile steadily slipping, his voice weighted and serious. “I saw you again after so many years and there you were… devastatingly beautiful.” 

Porthos blinks at him and is quiet. 

Aramis holds his breath – afraid that he has overstepped again, that he has burnt the tentative bridge that they have built, by summoning the ghosts of their lost years together, by reminding them both of that moment in the monastery’s cellars, Porthos turning away from Aramis, hurt. 

But Porthos gives that tentative, heartbreaking smile of his – the one that means he’s disbelieving, unbelieving – and there’s the faintest of blushes on his cheeks. 

“Ridiculous,” he says, voice quiet but fond. There’s that hint, that coiling undertow of pain that still hasn’t fully gone away. 

Aramis leans in closer to him, touches at his cheeks and drags his fingers. “I kind of miss all that hair.” 

Porthos snorts, softly. That, at least, is a good sign. 

“You looked just like I remembered you,” Porthos confesses after a moment – his hand lifting to curl tight into Aramis’ hair. Aramis shivers at the touch, always weak to the weight of Porthos’ hand cupping the back of his head, the way his hair tugs around his delicate fingers. 

Aramis sighs, “Porthos, you should be telling me I was far more handsome than you remembered.” 

Porthos’ smile tilts up, almost a smirk but not quite as mischievous – more teasing, more gentle than that. It fades after a moment when he says, seriously, “I was afraid I’d eventfully forget exactly how you looked. That one day a decade from now, I wouldn’t be able to picture your face at all. But you were exactly like I remembered.”

Aramis stills, must look devastated, because Porthos shakes his head and looks away, laughing – a high-pitched, ambivalent sound. 

“It was a dumb fear,” he decides after a moment. “I’d know you even if I were blind.” 

Aramis is quiet for a long moment, and then quite desperately cups Porthos’ cheeks and leans in – kissing him like it’s the last thing he’ll ever be able to do. he kisses Porthos, desperate and needy, and makes a soft sound in the back of his throat – a mournful sound, wishing again for that levity, wishing again for a way to soothe the jagged edges inside of Porthos. He kisses and kisses and kisses – doesn’t stop. Porthos opens to him, kisses him deeper, clings tight to his hair and refuses to let go. 

“You’re beautiful,” Aramis whispers against his mouth, breathing heavy, “You’re so beautiful. You’re so—”

“Alright,” Porthos interrupts, tugging at his hair gently, “If you’re done embarrassing me now…”

“Porthos,” Aramis insists, hushed. “I’m serious.” 

Porthos frowns, looking away with a small sigh, his smile still there but faint. “I know you are.” 

“You,” Aramis says, pushing Porthos back down and kissing first his forehead and then his temple, “are the most beautiful man I have ever known.”

Porthos grunts, but doesn’t push him away. And so Aramis kisses the tip of his nose, the corner of his mouth, the dip in his chin. Nuzzles against his jaw and kisses down his neck, at his collarbone. 

“I have never known a man more beautiful,” Aramis says again, breath ghosting against Porthos’ neck. He feels him shiver. 

Porthos breathes out – and then pushes at Aramis. He flips them, pressing Aramis down against the bed. Aramis forgets to breathe for half a moment, looking up at Porthos as Porthos folds their fingers together, interlocking. 

“I get it,” Porthos tells him. “Shut up already.”

He bends down and kisses Aramis again – and Aramis kisses him back. He doesn’t shut up, of course, but for a time he focuses just on kissing him, just on memorizing and worshipping this man – this man who, someday, might believe him when he calls him beautiful.

**Author's Note:**

> My [tumblr](http://stardropdream.tumblr.com/), as always.


End file.
